


Socializing

by nagi_schwarz



Series: Number The Stars [8]
Category: Criminal Minds, Stargate Atlantis, Thoughtcrimes (2003)
Genre: Crossover, F/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-03-19
Updated: 2016-03-19
Packaged: 2018-05-27 17:14:01
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 885
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/6292954
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/nagi_schwarz/pseuds/nagi_schwarz
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Written for the comment_fic prompt:: Stargate Atlantis/Criminal Minds, John Sheppard/Jennifer Jareau, mingling with the suits at the FBI wasn't Sheppard's idea of a good time, but JJ makes it better. A Vegas!AU installment to the series.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Socializing

John really didn't consider himself any kind of expert in, well, anything. After all, he'd been summarily booted from his job before nearly dying in an explosion in the Nevada desert while apparently saving Earth from imminent alien destruction. Sort of. The guys in the fighter jets had definitely helped. He didn't know what that Rodney McKay character had said, but suddenly he had his job back, plus his own task force, to be in charge of the civilian side of enforcing this 'Wraith' business. All very hush-hush, very prestigious. He had minions, and he had gamblers' anonymous meetings had to go to every week, and now he had to deal with the FBI.  
  
One of their special elite teams. The Behavioral Analysis Unit. Mind-readers, some said. Could see into the heads of psycho killers and catch them.  
  
The first time one of the boys had made that speculation, John's shiny new NSA-based lieutenant snorted and shook her head.  
  
"Yeah right," Freya said. "No one can read minds."  
  
"Well, aliens are real," John had pointed out. "Who knows what else is real."  
  
And Freya had gone strangely quiet.  
  
Didn't mean John wasn't highly uncomfortable at the notion of spending a lot of quality time with people who could, if not read minds, then read a person's behavior at a glance. John knew his hard-learned Sheppard charm was useful in a lot of ways, but he'd never get anything past these guys. Not that he had anything to get past these guys. He went to his GA meetings faithfully. He hadn't touched a drop of alcohol in months, even though he really wouldn't consider himself alcoholic. And he hadn't done anything useful with his life except chase down stray rumors about more individual Wraith incursions on earth.  
  
They didn't have to kill to feed, McKay told him. But they could still be out there. And some of them can look more human than you know. And they can turn us into them.  
  
Seems like a bad plan, Aiden had said once McKay left. They need us for food, not for troops.  
  
Freya disagreed, said, There are so many of us that turning a few wouldn't put a dent in our value as a food source. Freya's thing was numbers. She was better at them than John was, which was actually saying a lot, even though most people thought he could barely add and subtract.  
  
Aiden, Freya, and John huddled together, Aiden looking uncomfortable in a suit, Freya looking damn elegant and John every inch the Sheppard Man he'd been trained to be. Aaron Hotchner had gone to law school with Dave.  
  
John shook his hand, and they exchanged pleasantries. Turned out Freya and one of the FBI boys, a skinny kid who'd been introduced as Dr. Reid, were both huge Star Trek fans, and Freya deserted John very quickly. Aiden made a beeline for Derek Morgan, because apparently they had some cousin in common. Which left John itching to shed his suit and tie and just go shoot something.  
  
"Hey, we don't bite."  
  
John looked up from where he'd been brooding into his club soda. It took too much energy to be a Sheppard Man for long, so he only saved it for when someone was looking. He started to straighten his shoulders and smile, but the blonde woman – JJ, she'd introduced herself – sighed and leaned against the desk next to him.

"Trying to get a bunch of people who aren't very social to socialize when they'd all rather be out tracking killers is a bit of a pointless exercise, isn't it?" She was watching her other friends – Emily Prentiss, Dave Rossi – stay close to Hotchner and make small talk. Prentiss kept scanning the room for threats, and Rossi was taking in every single detail of the office: the clutter on the desks, Freya's MMORPG poster, John's Johnny Cash poster, Aiden's picture of his grandma.  
  
"I wouldn't say that," John began, but JJ laughed.  
  
"You're too nice. We're dull people. You're dull people. And they expect us to, what, break out the music and salsa?"  
  
John was about to defend his unit's fun reputation, but it didn't have one, and he tended to spend his time either plinking at his guitar or plugging away at War and Peace. "I can't salsa, but I can foxtrot."  
  
JJ raised her eyebrows. "Do tell? Most guys break out the waltz."  
  
"I can waltz, but it's not my preferred dance," John said. He'd always appreciated the complexities of the foxtrot. He and Nancy had waltzed as their first dance at Dave's wedding. And then they'd broken up. He had yet to find someone with whom he could really tango.  
  
JJ reached into her jacket and drew out her phone. "What song can we foxtrot to?"  
  
John raised his eyebrows. "Right here? Right now?"  
  
"Bring it, soldier," JJ said, so John took the phone from her and scrolled through her music choices. He had Aiden to thank for the fact that he recognized any of them, given the kid's abysmal top-40 taste in music. So he put on that American Authors song about the best day or whatever, drew JJ into his arms, and they began to dance.  
  
And maybe hanging out with the FBI wouldn't be so bad after all.


End file.
